E is for Endings

The boxes are out of the storage unit, the bookshelves are being emptied, and every time I use something I wonder if it's something I could afford to pack away. Just two weeks until the big move.

There are little things I will miss here - the way the marching band practicing across the way wakes me up every weekday morning, the abundance of the color yellow, and the friendliness of the ladies at the vet who love my kitty come to mind - but for the most part, I am ready to leave and move on to a place less associated with pain and grief.

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Two weeks ago, I met up with my sister in Chicago and we spent the day there wandering the streets, taking a boat tour, and wondering how we were possibly going to find someplace to feed four incredibly delicate eaters.  At some point, a man walked by in an blaze of Polo Sport and my sister and I both whipped our heads around.  My sister's boyfriend raised his eyebrow at us, but my sister and I just looked at each other, not saying a word.  It was only because we were walking right by a store selling chocolate that we even noticed it, I'm sure.  The scent of chocolate and Polo Sport that was a hallmark of our father.

Father's Day was difficult this weekend.  We sent the cards to my father-in-law and his father.  We made the phone calls.  We laughed and told stories about our week.  I don't think anyone knew.  But I was sad. And I know she was too.

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I called her and we laughed and then laughed some more. I told her about the time I thought I saw him across a DSW and she told me how she thought she saw him walking across the driveway.  Then we said goodbye and that was the end of that.